For a moment John's expression again pinches with embarrassment. Arthur would certainly laugh at him: John walked right into this dilemma.

"No, ah," he fumbles, "he is a he. His name is Arthur." He can't exactly say You are looking at his body right now, so he draws on more abstract description. He can improvise. "He's a young man, about your height. Skinny, I suppose. He has a British accent." There is none of that in John's too-deep voice, which may be his best defense. "He carries an air of... intensity, determination, the weight of a survivor. But he is also kind. And he has a talent for finding trouble."

His tone has gone warm and fond. Gruffly John clears his throat and casts his gaze back towards the garage where he'd awoken.

"I will watch for your friend, Ted, as well. Should we not wait here? In case they arrive by the same means?"